


laundromat

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy meet in a laundromat.</p><p>+ aka the four times Bellamy Blake was an actual walking disaster, and one time he wasn't + bonus</p>
            </blockquote>





	laundromat

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is, forgive me.

  
 

* * *

  
i.

Bellamy Blake had just moved to Arcadia after his father passed away, leaving him to run the family bookstore. He hadn't known his dad very well-- mostly cards on his birthday and an occasional check to help him through college. Bellamy wasn't _thrilled_ at the prospect of running a bookstore, but he had just graduated with a business degree with no other job offers lined up-- and he liked to read. So, he packed up his life and moved into the tiny apartment above the bookstore.

He had spent the entire first weekend cleaning the place-- his dad had never been a particularly tidy man, apparently. Having been living out of his duffel bag for the last week as he traveled across the country, most of his belongings were dirty and the washer and dryer that sat in the corner of the bedroom (yes, the bedroom) hadn't worked in ten years. Covered in dust and cobwebs, he stuffed everything back into the bag and walked down the road to the 24-hour laundromat on the corner.

It was nearly three in the morning, and Bellamy didn’t see a single soul out on the street. The bright yellow laundromat hurt his eyes as he wandered down one of the aisles-- having his pick from the many open machines. He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it on the washer, stripping down to his boxers and pulling his shirt over his head. _There was no sense in not washing everything._ Stuffing everything into the wash (not bothering to separate anything), he poured in the detergent and inserted his quarters.

He turned on some music from his phone and pulled out a tattered copy of the Count of Monte Cristo from his bag-- he had found it while cleaning out the apartment.

“Hello?”

Bellamy jumped a little at the soft voice, unsure of where it came from. A small blonde peeked out from around the corner of the aisle where she had been sitting with her back against a dryer. Bellamy felt warmth rush to his cheeks as he stood there in his boxers with nothing to cover up with.

Giggling, the girl brought her hand to her eyes. “Oh, my god.”

“Oh, my god.” Bellamy echoed with a groan, and brought his book up to smack himself on the forehead.

“I’m so sorry!” the voice called from behind the row of machines.

Bellamy closed his eyes in embarrassment, “No, please-- I didn’t think anyone was here. Obviously I would _not_ have stripped down to my boxers.”

Bellamy felt the heat radiate off his body-- he wanted to crawl into a hole.

A buzzer went off and the girl stood up (oh, god, she was cute) to pull her clothes from the dryer. She was wearing a leather jacket, and her hair cascaded over her shoulder in soft blonde curls.

Bellamy stayed glued to his spot by his washing machine, jaw clenched as the girl finished gathering her things. She picked up her basket and slung her bag over her shoulder. She reached the door, turning to use her back to press against it-- as her hands were full-- a smug smile across her face as her eyes wandered down his figure.

“You got a name?”

Bellamy cleared his throat awkwardly, “Erm, Bellamy-- Blake, Bellamy Blake.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed. “See you around, Bellamy Blake.” His mouth dropped as she winked at him and headed out the door. Pinching his nose, he smacked himself once more with his book before sinking down onto the floor to wait for his clothes.

* * *

 

ii.

Bellamy saw her again a few weeks later. He hadn't managed to get his washer and dryer running yet, he was waiting for a part that he ordered online. Not completely watching where he was going, he flung open the laundromat door-- crashing into a rather small person, sending clothes and liquid everywhere.

 _“Oof!”_ He heard her call out. A (now) empty bottle of cranberry juice rested a few inches from Bellamy’s hand as he was crawling around in a haphazard attempt to gather his clothes up. He was muttering _sorry_ and _I wasn't watching where I was going_  as he tossed the last articles of clothing back into his basket and stood to help the girl up. Red stains plagued her baby blue scrubs and Bellamy groaned.

“It’s official,” he uttered, “I am the _actual_ worst.”

This made her laugh, “Ha, no, no, it’s fine. Maybe just… watch where you’re going next time?”

“I just didn’t think anybody else would be doing their laundry at…” he looked down at his watch, “2:47 in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m a nurse-- I work crazy hours and I have to squeeze in laundry time whenever I get the chance.” She glanced at her scrubs, “I have to be back at work at five though.”

“Uh, you could toss ‘em in with my load-- it’s the least I could do.”

“My clothes are still in the wash…”

“Uh…” Bellamy began to unbutton his white shirt-- he had a tank top on beneath it. “Here!” He said, shoving it into her arms. Clarke smiled tentatively as she took it from his hands.

“Well, okay-- turn around real quick.”

Bellamy turned away to let her pull her scrubs off (he didn’t peek, of course not).

“I’m Clarke, by the way.” She added, as she finished buttoning up the shirt.

“Well, Clarke, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

She blushed.

They sat and chatted while they waited for their clothes to finish. Bellamy told her that he had just moved into the area to take over his dads bookstore-- funnily enough, she knew his dad. Clarke told him that she was a nurse at Jaha Memorial Hospital, which is also where her mother was the chief of surgery. Clarke asked him what he thought of the Count of Monte Cristo-- he laughed because he had completely forgot that’s what he had been reading the first night they met.

It was nearly four when they finished their laundry.

“I hope I can make that spilled drink up to you sometime.” Bellamy said on their way out.

“Preferably one with alcohol.”

Bellamy’s eyes crinkled with his smile as he nodded and exited to the left out of the laundromat-- only glancing over his shoulder once to see Clarke making her way to her car and head down the road opposite him.

iii.

Bellamy sat on the bed in the waiting room, holding his arm gingerly as he waited for the nurse. He (again) tried to take the washer and dryer situation into his own hands. He thought he had the machine secured, and the next thing he knew his arm was pinned between the dryer and the wall.

He felt like an idiot, mostly.

Clarke grabbed the patients clipboard off the wall, smirking as she realized the name on the paperwork. Entering the room she tilted her head slightly with a smile, “Hello, Bellamy.”

Bellamy eyes got wide as he shrunk back with embarrassment.

“What have we managed to do this time,” Clarke said as she scanned the patient notes. “Aha, pinned your arm between a dryer and the wall.”

Bellamy was (again) mortified at his lack of subtlety and grace.

“Let me know if you need an electrician to help you out, I know a guy.” Bellamy nodded, wincing slightly as she touched his arm.

She took his vitals and left, giving him a wink at the door. The doctor ended up taking an x-ray-- nothing but a bad bone bruise-- and sent him on his way with pain medication and advised him to take it easy with the DIY projects.

Back at his apartment, Bellamy sat on the floor-- defeated-- as he stared at the damn machines against the wall, shaking his head.

“Damn it all to hell.” He said, dropping back on to the floor.

* * *

 

iv.

 

“Hey, I really appreciate this man.”

Bellamy had finally given in, and called the electrician. He had gone to the hospital to hunt her down because he still didn’t even know her last name, let alone her phone number-- but he only got a hold of her mother, who gave him the number of the electrician. Bellamy thanked her, but was disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to see the pretty blonde nurse.

Monty Green was hard at work with the wires behind the dryer, as Bellamy hovered anxiously beside him. “No problem, but dude, you’re going to have to take like three steps back.”

“Erm, sorry,” Bellamy shuffled back, trying to give Monty his space. “So… how do you know Clarke?” Bellamy asked, trying to play it cool.

Monty plugged something in, “Huh? Oh, Clarke. We grew up together-- known her since elementary school.” He stood up and brushed some debris from his pants. “How do _you_ know Clarke?”

Bellamy felt a flush return to his cheeks, “Uh, we met at the laundromat.”

Monty nodded with a sly smile, “Something tells me there’s more to that story, but I won’t press it.” Bellamy was grateful. “Well, you should be good to go with the machines here, be gentle-- they are very old.”

Bellamy reached out to shake the electricians hands, “Thank you! Just send me the bill!”

Monty smiled and grabbed his tools as he headed for the door, “She _is_ single.”

“What?”

“Clarke, she’s single-- you know, in case you were wondering.”

Bellamy cleared his throat and shuffled on his feet, “Oh, thanks.”

After Monty left, Bellamy contemplated seeking her out-- but he decided he was too much of an idiot. There’s no way she’d want to go out with walking disaster, Bellamy Blake.

* * *

 

v.

It was laundry night for Clarke-- the night she normally ran into one handsome Bellamy Blake at the laundromat. She leaned against the dryer reading a magazine as her clothes dried, and he still hadn’t shown up. She even hung out for an extra fifteen minutes after her load was done, slowly folding each shirt-- twice.

Slightly disappointed, she headed home to take a nap before her half-day shift. She trudged her way through her rotations, mechanically smiling and taking vitals and paperwork as she watched the clock. Her shift finally ended and she was in and out of the locker room in no time flat.

She knew where the bookstore was, she’d been there a million times in high school when Bellamy’s dad ran the place. It had been harder the last few years to go-- but it had been one of her favorite places. The bell rang as she pushed the door open and she saw him standing behind the desk, eyes trained on the book in his hands.

She shuffled nervously up to the desk, and cleared her throat to garner his attention. As he slowly lowered the book, a smile crept on to his face.

“Hi.” She muttered.

“Hi.” He echoed.

“My name is Clarke Griffin, and I, uh, placed an online order for a leather bound copy of the Count of Monte Cristo.”

Bellamy licked his lips as he plugged her name into the computer system, “Ah, yes. It actually hasn't arrived yet-- tracking says to expect it by Friday though.”

Clarke nodded in understanding, crinkling her nose and trying to think of something else to say.

Bellamy stood there waiting, “Perhaps… I could interest you in something else today? Maybe the Three Musketeers or Don Quixote?” He moved from behind the desk and ushered her towards the classic literature section, scanning the shelves for his favorites. “Fan of the regency era? Emma? Pride and Prejudice? How about a date with me?”

Clarke’s mouth dropped open as Bellamy turned to face her, books in hand. “Hm...” she pondered, “I was really looking forward to laying in bed with a good book.”

Bellamy shrugged at her, “Doesn't seem like a bad date to me.” (Smooth.)

Clarke smiled at him, twitching her nose as his big brown eyes gave her a longing puppy-dog stare. “Don’t you have a shop to run?”

“Nah, my buddy Miller is working in the back. He can cover for the afternoon. Besides, I’m nearly done with the Count-- and pretty little blonde ladies keep coming in to the shop to distract me from finishing.”

Clarke laughed, he seemed to have gotten his confidence back. “Okay.”

* * *

 

vi.

Back at Clarke’s apartment, they laid on her bed, heads at opposite ends. Bellamy finished the Count within forty-five minutes and Clarke couldn't read Emma with Bellamy studying her from the other side of the bed.

They sat cross-legged for awhile, Clarke had a pillow resting in her lap and they talked about books and their lives-- Bellamy had a younger half-sister from his mother’s second marriage, who was apparently a spitfire with a gypsy heart; Clarke had lost her dad about five years earlier to a brain tumor, which prompted her to go into nursing (despite her mother insisting it was because of her.)

“Every time I went to visit Dad in the cancer-wing, I’d see all these kids. No hair because of chemo, small, fragile bodies wrapped in hospital robes. I wanted to give back, I wanted to help-- medicine seemed the best way, so I went to nursing school-- it was cheaper than med school. Maybe one day.”

Bellamy talked about his short time in the military, but it wasn't for him, so he fulfilled his duties and went back to school-- still unsure of what he wanted to do. After his dads heart attack, suddenly he had something he could call his own, an adventure.

This became a tradition for them, on days when Clarke wasn't on rotation, they’d walk home together from the bookstore (stealing kisses in the park) and lie in bed reading together. Occasionally they’d read aloud from whichever story they were working on-- sharing their favorite lines and talking about the characters tragic back stories.

One night at Bellamy’s, Clarke had brought over her laundry after her shift and she spotted his white button up on the chair beside the machine. While he was in the bathroom, she stepped out of her scrubs and pulled on the shirt.

He came back to the room, he found Clarke sitting on top of the dryer, bare legs dangling down and she definitely didn’t have all the buttons done up. He shook his head with a stupid lopsided grin plastered on his face. “What’s this?”

“Oh, see. I was going to tell you a story about the time this guy ran into me at the laundromat causing me to spill juice all over my scrubs and I had to undress in the laundromat--but I thought I needed a visual aide.” She teased him, leaning forward hands resting on the edge of the machine pushing her breasts up and together.

In a few short strides he was settles between her legs, hands running up along her thigh. Clarke leaned in and kissed him gently, sliding her fingers into his hair as she wrapped her legs around him.

“Mm, yes, I like that story.” Bellamy whispered between kisses.

Clarke just moaned against his mouth.

That shirt didn’t stay on very long.


End file.
